A CALL AT THE CAFETERIA

A BIRRIBOO ADVENTURE By Rami Abdo I go by the name of Birriboo the squirrel. My domus lies in the woodland realms, within the heart of Mount Filani, one of the many ranges in the island of Cyprus. Like many of the other forest animals, I study under the tutelage of Simoon the owl, the wisest and most revered of all the beasts of Filani. He took me under his wing and taught me all about the different species of the world, from the lowly but hard-working ant to the majesty of the whales in oceans far away. Of all the animals of the kingdom, the ones that confuse me the most are human beings. Simoon had placed me in charge of cataloguing their activities on the island of Cyprus, so as we can better understand their complex mating rituals, habitual customs, and natural behaviours, and this was an arduous task indeed. They are not simple animals like us forest creatures; they choose to complicate even their most simplest of practices with rules, norms and other frivolities that make no sense to us straightforward creatures of mother earth. These duties usually require of me to monitor the activities of certain barbarian males of the genus humanus, who annually gather in the Filani grove for their savage rituals and games. These include eating, drinking of the magic elixir they call alcohol, and dancing amongst other more outrageous practices too unnerving to mention here. But their practices are simple and straightforward and theirs is another story. It seems I have wandered off the telling of this one. It all begins with an angry owl waving a tattered tree-bark record in the faces of his students, cursing us for our pathetic idleness. The record holds the entries of the Cyprius Humana. The cause of his hooting temper is due to the last entry being over 100 years old! Woe is me! For he has pointed his ruffled feathers at me, declaring that I must renew the outdated record with a report of the species of modern times! I tried to scurry away silently, hoping the ominous task would be instead given to another unfortunate such as Harry the Weasel, but I was not to be so lucky. The owls sharp eyes spotted my failed attempt at escape, and I suffered a verbal abusing that I havent endured since Herbert the Hyena came to visit.

Herein follows Birriboos account of the Cyprius Humana in the habitat of a Cafeteria... Complete with quill, ink and parchment, I trudged down the mountain into the hub of civilization in search of fine samples to study. It was not long before I found a Cafeteria, where a host of humans were collected all together and chatting amongst one another akin to a flock of flamingos I once saw. Ive heard of these cafeterias before, social gatherings where eating and drinking takes place freely, with hardly any of that fighting-for-morsels attitude that separates them from us animals. Oh how marvellously civilized the humans have become! I spied a group of females segregated from the rest of the clan and set about recording their appearance and behaviour... The first item of interest that I took note of, me being a squirrel and all, was the selection of footwear they chose to wear. The tip, the heel, or both were elongated and sharp enough to be used as a deadly weapon. Did the females need them to fend of merciless predators and over eager suitors, or is this a tool of convenience used to drill holes in trees for grubs and pick out tasty cockroaches hiding in corners? They certainly did not look comfortable enough to walk in, as I heard from others is the whole purpose of shoes in the first place. I cringed at the thought of trying to cram my dainty little squirrel feet into what plainly looked like a cruel torture device, and moved on with my observations. My sight veered towards their arms, and I nearly dropped my ink in astonishment. Each hand now sported some form of unnatural extension, as if evolution took a turn for the worse on these poor unfortunates. The end of one hand possessed a minute but bright screen that they continuously stared into and numerous labelled buttons which they punched with their thumbs at such alarmingly super human speed that I thought perhaps they were being fuelled by some exterior adrenalin sac. They even appeared to accomplish this task while performing other activities at the same time. After being entranced by this repetitive act, which was occurring every few moments, I have come to the conclusion that they have developed some sort of telepathic-neuron-

connection to this device, such that they will not be able to function without it and it without them. Their other hand had also evolved, growing a container-like vessel that they seem to use for drinking this brownish liquid out of. I managed to overhear some of the other creatures talking of this life-giving drink. They call it coffee and it is now required for humans to function biologically. Once they awaken in the morning of each day, they cannot act within their full capacity until they have consumed vast quantities of this concoction. This intake they repeat at various intervals during the day, leading me to believe that coffee will eventually replace water in the future as the giver of life for this race. I pondered on whether they had also adjusted their watering holes to contain coffee. I made a note to look for one later on. After a moment of perplexity and bad angles, (I am a squirrel after all), I realized they were merely holding onto these devices, and had in fact not grown or grafted them into their hands. They held on to them and protected them so dearly that I initially thought they were permanent fixtures of their bodies. Silly squirrel indeed! On conducting a quick scan of the females around the area, I found remarkably that some of them had their hair dyed with various colours and shades. All manners of red, blue, green and other tones were apparent in abundance. I could not for the life of me comprehend how this will help them survive in the wild. They have painted themselves an easy target to every hungry predator in the vicinity, and I shifted my eyes warily, fearing one to be nearby from all this easy prey. I pondered upon whether it was some form of practice for attracting the males, as I noticed some of them also furnished colourful hair, akin to the colourful and exotic feathers of the birds of paradise. My final conclusion was that the females require some form of identification amongst one another for establishing status and hierarchy rights within each of their clans, so that they each know their place amongst the other females. The greatest of all changes that I hesitantly scribe since the last log 100 years ago is of the increasingly complex mating rituals undertaken by the males and females in attracting the opposite gender of their species. It seems that the eyes of human beings are perpetually on the lookout for a suitable partner, and all potential mates within line of sight are immediately scrutinized and filtered out under their expert-like surveillance. Those who are deemed of weak character, poor status, or possessing shoddy mounts are eliminated from their list, until a select few are judged acceptable to mate with. From the

females side, the chosen males are leered at until their attention is begotten, from which point the female would partake in certain flirtatious acts, such as hair flipping, fake laughter and looking away if eye contact is established. The chosen one may or may not approach the female, depending on his prowess and bravery. If he does dare, and here is where the complexity begins, the female will swiftly feign disinterest, rolling her eyes and shattering his confidence with a wave of her hand. The male may then, if he is stubborn and patient enough, court the female until she gives in. Who knows how long that actually takes, im certainly not planning to stick around and find out.This is a mere generalization of the process of course, the truth being that the intricacy of the complex network of habits, rituals and customs involved within the courting rights are enough to make my head spin, me being a squirrel and all. There are countless more entries that need inscribing, from the human dieting habits to choice of clothing, but sadly I have run out of parchment and patience, which is my signal for returning to mount Filani. Hopefully, the owl is happy with my account of the Cyprius Humana, as I write only what I see, and not what I understand on why they have evolved in such a manner, me being a squirrel and all